


The Junk Drawer

by Cerise_anouk



Series: There's Egg Shell in My Omelet [3]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Darcy is the masta, Darcy regreats only a little, Disney, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hot nyc nights, Hulk/Bruce is Brunnhilde's ol' yeller, Humor, Jane is a genius, Lazy Sex, Multi, Napping Under the Sun, New Asgard, No Plot/Plotless, Staycation, The circle of liiiiiiiiiiife, Thor/Jane baby baby, Tumblr: fuckyeahdarcylewis, Vision is a grasshoppah, good fun, grapefruit is the best fruit, grumpy bucky, its where its at, no bata cuz thats how we roooooollll bitches, perfectionist, prompts, resting bitch face, that's what it's all about, your eggo is prego, zap - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-19 08:52:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14233725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerise_anouk/pseuds/Cerise_anouk
Summary: where all the bits and bobs go.tags and such will be added to when needed.Chapter 7: the team needs to find a way homeChapter 8: Grumpy Bucky does laundry late at night. enter Darcy Lewis





	1. Greener Pastures

“Uh…what the hell just happened?” Sam asks the equally perturbed, previously training super (debatable) heroes now standing at a loss on the practice field.

Not five seconds ago a very unannounced Thor had beamed down from who knows where and without preamble greeted his Midgardian brothers-in-arms then promptly announced that due to such-and-such circumstances, he was relocating his herd to the compound and thus they should all make ready, preferably with a feast, then razzle-dazzled his blond princely ass back to wherever said herd was waiting.

“Does he mean, like, oxen?” Tony asks the assembled members at large.

“That remains to be seen,” Vision intones dryly.

“For the love of–“ Clint rolls his eyes and slaps a hand to his forehead, “You guys seriously need to get out more. Seriously. Oxen. Jesus Christ.”

“It’s from _Ice Age_ ,” Lang supplies helpfully to their still blank faces, “You know, the kid’s movie? There’s like, at least four of them. The herd is their family?” when they still just give him blank face he shakes his head in shared exasperation, “Barton’s right, you’re all just a bunch of sad, shut-ins in need of a Disney/Dreamworks marathon and hugs.”

“Thor,” Clint annunciates slowly, “Is bring-ing his pee-pole here to stay.”

That gets Tony’s attention, “Foster?” he snaps (while an equally excited Steve squee's Brunnhilde), perking up instantly now that he’s not having to figure out the logistics of housing a herd of large herbivorous quadrupeds, “Or Selvig too? ‘Cus they’re generally a two-fer package deal and I’ve heard some interesting things about their intern’s intern that–“ he rambles on in rapidly rising science-based excitement. He’s been trying to get his greedy manicured hands on the astrophysicists’ brains for _years_ , ever since he met Thor and some mild, late night hack-snooping had uncovered the classified documents pertaining to the New Mexico business had whet his whistle.

First Brucie and now the leading astrophysicists in the world?

Best. Roommates. Ever.

Just then a bright, shimmering spaceship blips into existence and the team all turns to welcome the mysterious new-comers.

When the hull door drops they’re left facing a large group led by a happily smiling Thor, his pouty brother, the Valkyrie, a suspiciously glaring waif of a brunette, a put upon older gentleman, a heavily layered glasses girl and a tall, nervous looking young man.

“Man,” the layered one whines, tuning to face the one eyed thunder God, “I thought you said you were taking us somewhere _safe_.”


	2. Star Student

Scott stride-dances his way into the Level One Personnel Only Lounge (AKA, where the fucking super heroes sat around in sweats and mustard stained tees) whistling the Austin Powers theme song. He manages an energetic hip swivel and a jaunty little wrist twirl before the combined weight of silently judging eyes freezes him mid routine.  
Predators are near.  
Sitting side by side on one of the ridiculously overpriced, modern-esque couches is Darcy and, surprisingly, Vision. Both were staring him down with equally frosty, judgy-McJudgerson eyes and identical moues of put-upon distain.  
“Uhhh….” Scott’s voice echoes into the awkward as fuck silence, “…I’m sorry?”  
When all he gets in response is the glacial face fuck off’s he casually backs out of the room, suddenly remembering he had a thing with some people who had some stuff to you know.   
As soon as the lounge doors silently hiss shut the two on the couch turn and face each other; one (Darcy) with an extremely satisfied look and the other (Vison) with a tamely hopeful expression plastered to their faces.  
“And that, my young grasshopper,” Darcy says, pleased as punch and twice as proud, “is how a successful ‘resting bitch face’ is done.”  
__


	3. In which the Lion King is watched

In hindsight, Darcy _probably_ shouldn’t have picked _The Lion King_ for the Asgardians, specifically Thor and Loki, to watch during their cultural immersion class (aka movie night), or at least consulted somebody else about it first. Pretty sure if she’d said, ‘hey, I’m planning to show them a cartoon about royal fratricide liberally splashed with humor and catchy musical renditions,’ _somebody_ (cough! Jane cough! cough! Bruce) would’ve told her to pump her breaks.

But she hadn’t. She’d grown cocky, drunk off the success of _Aladdin_ (Loki had totally dug Jafar’s style) and _Hook_ ( the _look_ of disgruntled terror on Steve Rogers’ _face_ when Thor had shouted ‘Bangarang!’ as he’d charged at him during training would keep her warm on the coldest nights) totally forgetting the hard lesson learned from showing them _Old Yeller_. _That_ had been a complete and utter disaster. Thor had gone through two boxes of Kleenex and six tubs of ice cream and Jane had had to brush his hair for _three_ hours. Bruce had asked her after dinner if she knew why Brunnhilde kept demanding he get a rabies shot and patting his head. Loki had hugged a couch pillow in silence then demanded she sign him up for the Dunder Mifflin Rabies Awareness Pro-Am Fun Run he had discovered on the Google. After she’d cringed and explained that that didn’t actually exist, he’d demanded that she ‘make it so’. Thus, three months (and an assload of work for her. An _assload_ ) later the first annual Intergalactic Rockin’ Rabies Awareness Mara-bubble-athon took place in New York sponsored by Stark Industries. There’d been a huge turnout, mostly because all of the Super celebrities had shown up in eighties-esque running gear. Nothing brings out the masses like short-shorts on toned butts.

The first niggle of apprehension hadn’t trickled down her spine until after the awe inspiring opening sunrise scene and the epic Simba lift where she’s pretty sure they all felt the circle of life deep in their fucking _souls._ She’d still been riding high. Then the literal cat and mouse game that introduced Scar had gone down. The two princes had gone quiet at the back and forth between the lions, though Loki had let out an uncomfortable snicker at the black haired lion’s ‘I got the brains you got the brawn’ speech. It was eerie how similar Mufasa and Scar were to the brothers. Darcy had fought not to cringe and she could feel the glare very pregnant Jane was burning into the side of her head.

Balls.

They’d chuckled along with everyone else as Simba warbled about how he couldn’t wait to be king, and Loki had ribbed Thor with, “Remind you of anyone, brother?” The blond had taken it with a good natured grin.

It was all downhill after Mufasa had given Simba the ‘I won’t always be here’ speech.

She didn’t even want to think about how utterly dead silent the two had been during the murder scene. They’d exchanged awkward glances and Darcy had felt like a giant dick. She’d contemplated turning it off but the Asgardian refugee kids were totally into the movie.

It hadn’t been a total loss though. Loki had nudged Thor when Rafiki had found Simba and said, “Heimdall.” And the two had sat a little straighter when he said ‘he lives in you’. Then during the battle for Pride Rock when the baboon took out the hyena’s Thor had chuckled and said in agreement, “Most definitely Heimdall.” The somber golden eyed man had taken it with grace.

They definitely hadn’t been wrecked like after _Old Yeller_ , but they’d been quiet when the movie ended. She guessed it sort of helped that they’d already had their come to Jesus moment when they’d lost their dad and Asgard to their secret big sister. But yeah, Darcy had been put on movie restrictions after that and she had to run whatever ever she picked by both Jane _and_ Bruce before playing it.

Not a bad deal, considering the humongous impact introducing them to that movie will have down the line.

* * *

 

A week later she catches Thor pointing at his reflection in a mirror, hyping himself up with a firm, “Remember who you are.”

* * *

 

She keeps her head down (and both eyes on the knife in Jane’s hand) at dinner a week away from her friend’s due date as the hugely pregnant tiny scientist says in a deadly firm tone to Thor, “You _are not_ presenting this baby to your people like Simba.”

* * *

 

Sitting in the hall just outside the room where Jane and Thor are giving birth (with team of Asgardian healers and space equipment) they hear the baby let out its triumphant first cry. They both stand, eager to see the baby. She is a twitchy, jittery blob of excitement while Loki in contrast is a calm pillar next to her. What feels like an eternity later they are admitted in.

She’s pretty damn sure Loki used magic to beat her to the door, but whatev, she’s totally a shoe in for favorite Earth aunt so she can be gracious about it. Jane is looking both tired and glowy with happiness as she stares at Thor standing next to her bed holding the baby.

The blond king smiles in utter pride and joy as they approach. Loki smirks (softly!) and holds his arms out, “May I be the first to greet the new heir.”

* * *

 

Thor lifts the totally uninterested and put out looking newborn high into the air (completely ignoring and not feeling Jane’s pissed off sharp jabs to his side) as his people down below the balcony go crazy over the new highness.

Darcy chokes on her laugh when Jane pins her with an angry look.

“This is _your_ fault!”

* * *

 

She’s really starting to get used to Jane’s mommy glares when the Scar stuffed animal, wherever the fuck that douche canoe Loki managed to pull that out of his ass from, becomes the baby’s favorite thing in the whole universe and won’t sleep without it.

* * *

 

As she stumbles into the common kitchen in the early dawn light, intent on making at least a gallon of coffee, she catches sight of Thor standing at one of the vast windows that overlooks to Asgardian settlement in Norway, barefoot in low slung sweats, his child cradled against his shirtless chest.

In the quiet stillness she catches his softly spoken, “Everything the light touches is our kingdom.”

* * *

 

She almost spits her iced coffee out when the baby, from its spot on the floor among toys, gives out a cheerful scream as Uncle Loki walks in. The trickster smirks and levitates the happy infant in a bubble of mystical energy into his arms.

“Hello Monkey,” he greets the babbling drool machine.

* * *

 

Whatever. Could be worse. Half the population in the universe could be dust and a giant purple ball sack of an overlord could be ruling what remains.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1)I'm pretty sure Disney just dusted off the Jafar recipe card when they made Scar and Loki.  
> 2)I watch a lot of Disney cartoons.  
> 3)There's too much Lion King is this for me to site it all, but it's a lot. If you've seen it you'll know what's what. If not, get on that.  
> 4) the Michael Scott's Dunder Mifflin Scranton Meredith Palmer Memorial Celebrity Rabies Awareness Pro-Am Fun Run Race for the Cure is from the show The Office. episode 1 and 2 of season 3 to be specific. but it was for treating humans, Loki's is 100% just for pets, he could care less about the humans with rabies.  
> 5) Norse doesnt have unisex baby names, so no name for this baby, you decide boy or girl.


	4. lazy

There’s a special place in her heart for lazy sex. The kind that starts as a random peck on the lips, turns into two then three then before you know it bam: lazy sex. It’s not heart pounding, like angry fucking, where lust and pissed off collide leaving you half dressed with bruised hips and scratches down your back. Or I missed you sex where the end product is pretty similar to that of angry fucking.

There’s no premeditation to lazy sex. No matching pantie sets, no slow seduction across a table, where the brushing of fingers might as well be a declaration of intent to blow job and eating your meal is more about innuendo then the _actual_ enjoyment of food and really just another tool to ratchet up the anticipation until the sexual tension snaps like the seam of your expensive thong he rips in his haste to have as he bends you over the stairwell railing.

It’s not full of unsaid words, like goodbye sex. Where every lick, every glide of flesh over flesh and every kiss is saying everything you just _can’t_ at the moment. Where every roll of hips says, “I love you, I’ll miss you, don’t forget me, wait for me.”

It’s not the release of frustration you seek after a hard day at work where you drop your pants as soon as you close the front door and demand he bang your drum as you ride him for all he’s worth off into the sunset until you’re nothing but a limp sweaty noodle of relaxation.

No, lazy sex is where it’s at she thinks, humming in pleasure as a languid thrust has him stroking against that spot and gently bumping her cervix. It’s the absentminded back and forth brush of knuckles along the side of her boob she can feel through the cotton of her t-shirt as they relax together on the couch. It’s the perfunctory kisses that taste like coffee and jammy toast with a hint of toothpaste behind when she lackadaisically slips her tongue in to twist against his.

There’s no race to the finish, no point to prove with marathon sex or three orgasms before I come. It’s purer than all that. They hadn’t torn each other’s clothes off in a fit of need. In fact, Bucky had only tugged his shorts down enough for his cock to spring free and Darcy had slipped one leg out of her leggings. There’s no getting lost in a haze of raging lust, as his sock covered foot slips and bumps the mug on the floor causing the spoon to tink around inside. She definitely notices that her own foot is now stuck between the couch cushions but the wet glide of his tongue around her nipple followed by him sucking on the pebbled tip sets her clit throbbing, and makes her give fuck all about that as she absently grips the arm of the couch behind her head.

It’s the slow, gradual tightening in her belly and the slight tingle that prickles across her skin followed by the halfhearted curl of her toes as her orgasm stretches through her, her pussy milking his twitching cock in soft caresses while he sighs his own release, goosebumps making the hair on his arm stand up. They hadn’t broken a sweat. They weren’t out of breath.

Bucky kisses her one last time and stands, pulling his basketball shorts back over himself. Stretching, he smiles at her then heads for the kitchen, “Hungry?” he calls over his shoulder and Darcy, still laying just the way he left her, tugs her shirt back down over her breasts grinning to herself. Lazy sex is the best.

“Yeah, I’m starving.”


	5. Stay-cation all i've ever wanted, Stay-cation neeever get away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a tumblr person, more of a lurker really, but I read some fics for the Fuckyeahdarcylewis cool for the summer challenge and had to look up the prompts. I'm horrible at deadlines, so I'm not participating really, but I got inspired by a few of them so yeah, I wrote something up. P.s. I hate writing Steve. no matter how hard I try he always comes out with no sense of humor. guess he's just a fuddy-duddy in my head.

“Where th’hell is everybody?” Steve growls. Forty-five minutes. He, Sam, and Buck had been waiting forty-five goddamn minutes for the rest of the team (currently) on site to assemble for training and not a one had yet to show up. Nobody was answering his calls.

Buck shrugsm running a hand through hair already slightly damp from the day’s heat. The last week had been a real scorcher, and today was shaping up to be no different, “Maybe they thought you meant the gym, you know, where it’s air conditioned? ‘S hotter’n hell out here punk. Think it’s time we head in. I doubt anybody’s gonna show up now.”

“It hurts me to say it –deeply, but the man has a point,” Sam adds, knuckling his damp brow. He has no idea how Steve can take it with the beard covering his face. The beers sitting ice cold in his fridge are calling his name.

Steve scowls, checks his communicator for the millionth time, and thinks. The bead of sweat rolling down his chin decides for him, “All right. Let’s go find them.”

The compound is empty, save for the standard support staff. They find none of their teammates in the gym. Nor any of the common areas and Steve is starting to feel a niggle of worry creep in. No way was there a call to assemble. They would have definitely been notified.

“Let’s check the labs,” Bucky suggests, “worse case, if they’re not there Doc Foster might know where Thor’s gone off to.”

It’s a long shot, but they’ve run out of options.

Tony’s shop is dark, the billionaire currently in Malibu with Pepper. Bruce’s is alarmingly closed up as well. Hulk’s better half is rarely outside his lab during what he considers ‘working’ hours.

“Steve,” Sam nudges him before moving over to the door to Foster’s lab, “Look,” The windows are just as dark, but unlike the rest there’s a note taped to it.

Steve rips it off, eyes tracking furiously, rage bubbling up in his chest as Bucky reads over his shoulder.

In feminine, loopy handwriting it says,

Closed due to Stay-cation 2019.

Food, Fun, and Frolicking to be had by all!

Happening at the cabins

Be there! Or like, don’t it’s a free country

(P.s. Don’t and I repeat DO NOT tell the Senior Discount Duo. Or the Winged Wonder)

(I mean Rogers and Barnes and Sam)

“Lewis,” Steve growls. _Of course_ it’s Lewis’ fault. It’s _always_ Lewis’ fault.

“Senior Discount,” Bucky mutters, scowling at the paper.

“Why the _hell_ am I being lumped in with you guys?” Sam gripes.

Wadding the paper up, Steve does an about face and storms back down the hall. The two left behind share a look.

“Guess we’re gonna find out.”

_

Steve marches across the field that separates the large Avengers complex from the group of housing units, Sam and Bucky trailing behind.   

With the influx of people calling the Avengers complex home, and not enough rooms to house them, Tony had had a cluster of small cabins constructed while additions were being added on to the main building. Of course, being Tony, small really meant two stories and he’d had an in-ground pool dropped into the center of the communal yard.

As they near the cluster of cozy buildings the sound of music wafts towards them on the hot air. The singer of the mellow song ‘hopes you like jammin’ too’ in a Jamaican accent to the island-y beat. While he’s sure on a regular day it’s a very pleasant number right now it just ratchets Steve’s irritation up another level. Passing between two cabins he stops dead at the scene before him.

“What the hell?!”

Everyone freezes. Then collectively sighs/rolls their eyes and go back to what they were doing.

A large sign declaring _Stay-cation 2019_ is stretched between two bungalows. Tables edged in grass skirting are loaded down with various party foods like platters of sliders, an all you can eat wing station, and a chocolate fountain next to a mountain of fruit. Blowup palm trees and tiki torches are studded around the large yard. String lights crisscross above them, clearly in preparation for the festivities to go on well into the night. There was a temperature defying ice luge, sculpted into a cartoonish Hulk with a very large, very curvy penis to guide the liquid into your mouth next to a pile of mostly empty rum and tequila bottles.

Viz is manning the grill (poorly, if the smoke is any indication), dressed like everyone’s dad in the history of barbeque. Heimdall and Korg are engaged in a game of blindfolded corn hole. Stretched out in loungers along the pool’s edge, Nat, Brunnhilde and Wanda’s bikini clad bods glisten with tanning oil. Loki Frost-Giants-feel-no-heat-bitches is relaxing next to them, decked out in an unbuttoned garish Hawaiian shirt, sipping from a giant margarita with the curliest curly straw known to man. 

In the pool Thor and Bruce are faced off over a floating beer pong setup (though with the way it sparkles in the sunlight, he’s pretty sure it’s bootleg Asgardian mead in the cups). Doctor Foster is passed out in a blowup floaty chair, a large floppy hat shading her sleeping face. And there, bobbing along in a tube shaped like a sprinkled donut with a drink precariously bobbing right along with her in its own mini float (next to a nervous looking (and possibly buzzed) Peter trying to look inconspicuous in a flamingo floaty) is the cause of all upheaval to his neat and orderly world lately, Darcy Lewis.

“What the hell?” Steve repeats, tossing his hands into the air, “Didn’t any of you get my text about heat resistance training this morning?”

“We had a prior engagement,” Natasha drawls, not even deigning to open her eyes, “obviously.”

“Leave it to you to think hundred-plus degree weather is perfect for heat resistant training.” Lewis teases, her tube slowly spinning in a circle.

Steve’s pretty sure a vein just burst in his brain, “What is all this anyways? Why wasn’t I informed?”

“And why wasn’t I invited? I’m hurt Lewis, hurt deep.” Sam adds.

“Stay-cation twenty-nineteen,” Darcy says, paddling over to the pool steps and climbing out, bringing her drink with her, “Like the sign says. You weren’t informed because _maybe_ you veto every fun thing I plan ever? And you,“ she waves her drink at Sam, “weren’t invited because you’re the absolute _worst_ at keeping secrets. You would’ve squealed to Captain No Fun over here,” she thumbs at Steve, “and he’d’uv put the kybosh on this. You too,” she adds in an aside to Bucky.

“Fair,” Bucky agrees.

“I _do not_ squeal to Cap,” Sam says, scandalized.

Steve snorts, “Name one thing I’ve-“

“Cinco de Mayo,” she shoots out, holding up a finger, “Do you know how many people were looking forward to that taco eating contest? But nooo, you thought team building exercises were more important.”

“Hulk is still not over it,” Bruce calls from the pool as he sinks another ball.

“I as well am not over it,” Thor skols a cup adding, “Brunnhilde was also quite upset.”

The Valkyrie in question shoots him a gimlet stare that has him wishing for his shield.

Steve crosses his arms, “That’s just-“

“The St. Patty’s Day-Drunk Games?” she cuts him off, ticking up another finger, “I had to eat the cost on all the team uniforms because they wouldn’t take last minute returns after _you_ shut it down because ‘This is a strategic outpost for world security, not a frat house, Miss Lewis’,” she air-quotes.

“It took me two months to come up with that team chant,” Nat grumbles.

“Pumpkin chuck-and chili cook-off,” Darcy ticks another finger, on a roll now, “The super slip-and-slide, the epic pillow fight, Anything But Clothes Day-“

“Alright,” Steve says holding his hand up, “I get it-“

“No, no you don’t,” she takes an aggressive step towards him, which Steve will never admit slightly intimidated him, her expressive eyes taking on a savage glint, “Stay-cation is a sacred Jane and Darcy tradition. It’s survived overdue power bills, emo-elves, Thor disappearances,” here the large blond flinches, missing his shot, “and crazy finger-snapping purple people eaters, and I was not – _not_ , going to let you eff it up this year, dude. Got it?”

“Loosen up, Rogers,” Nat tosses his way.

“Yeah, Cap,” Peter pipes up, “The pool’s great! And look! They’ve got one’uh those giant submarine sandwiches and Thor’d said he’d eat the _whole thing_!”

“One day will not compromise our abilities to perform on the field of battle,” Dad-Viz adds.

With so many people staring him down he’s starting to feel corned. Steve’d always been known for his amazing strategic mind, and knows when he’s been beat. Doesn’t mean he has to be graceful about it.

“I guess,” he says grudgingly, “one day every now and then couldn’t hurt. You all can have the day off from training.”

“So generous,” he hears Wanda murmur sarcastically.

 Darcy finger shoots him with her free hand, “Cool beans my guy. Now, Stay-cation has a firm the more the merrier policy so you three can stay _but_ only if you’re not going to be a Debbie Downer. This is a fun only zone alright?”

Not even waiting for his reply she turns to Bucky, eyes him up and down while taking a long sip from her straw, “Full disclosure, I’m seeing two of you right now which I can totally get behind, or, what I really mean is would like to get behind _me_. Or under. Sideways. Whatever’s clever,” She gives a little two-finger salute, “Darcy out,” she executes a slightly wobbly about face (giving them a nice view of her perfect ass wrapped in a pair of very flattering cheeky bottoms) then wades back into the pool with her floaty.

“I’m in,” says Bucky, whipping his workout tank over his head and kicking off his shoes and socks. His gym shorts double just fine as swim trunks.

Steve glares at him, betrayal written across his face, “Buck, what the fuck?” he whisper-hisses.

“Look pal,” Bucky grasps his oldest friend’s shoulder, “I’m about to seal the deal, finally, after eight long months of Lewis and I’s cat and mouse game of seduction. I love ya pal, I really do, but I’m not gonna let you jeopardize this with your hard-up cock-blocking ways.”

An incredulous look passes over his face, “What? You and Lewis? Since when eight months?”

Sam shoots him a where the fuck have you been look.

Bucky eyes the woman in question as she tongues her straw suggestively while staring at him, “It’s been a delicate, subtle op, one I wouldn’t expect a non-assassin like you to pick up all –if any –the nuances of.”

“If by ‘subtle’ you mean her deep throating pens and you fingering donuts while you eye fuck each other,” Sam mumbles.

“Anyway, the point _is,_ I’m letting you die on this hill by yourself, Punk,” the metal armed man claps him on the shoulder, “I’m goin’ in,” he struts down into the pool without a backward glance, not stopping till he reaches Lewis and rests his arms on the edge of her floaty.

“Can you believe him?” Steve turns to Sam, gearing up for a good rant.

Sam was not having any of it, “Rogers, goddamn Natasha Romanov is over there wearing the teeniest bikini ever made on God’s green earth. At some point she’s gonna need someone to rub lotion on her back, and if anybody out there in the universe is on my side it’s going to be this guy, ya feel me?”

Steve cannot believe what he’s hearing, “You too, Sam?” he throws in a hurt puppy look for good measure.

“Do you know how many fantasies I’ve had about that woman’s thighs wrapped around my head? Do you?”

Steve grimaces at the visual that statement inspires.

“I’m with Barnes on this one, man. You’re dying on this hill alone,” he swaggers towards the lounging women.

“That’s real nice, Sam!” he calls after him.

“Get laid!” the winged hero returns over his shoulder.

The buff captain stands there, alone, hands propped on his narrow hips. To retreat back to the gym to pump righteous iron, or give in to the lure of hot wings and pool shenanigans? As he weighs the pros and cons of the options before him, his wandering eyes land on a table laden down with a plethora of pies and a chiller of various ice creams.

Fuck it, he thinks, making his way over, one day won’t hurt.

There better be goddamn apple.


	6. Napping under the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part of the omelet verse

Arms laden with grocery bags Bucky shoulders open the front door, mentally cursing the damn convoluted “state of the art” panic room grade, piece of three locks _and_ retinal, palm and voice activated bullshit. Shuffling around he boots the thing closed, relishing the reverberation he feels rumble through floor as it slams into the jamb, automatic locking mechanisms sliding and clicking into place. The over complicated contraption (designed to look like the average door) had been the cause of a few peed pants episodes when Darcy got the unlocking sequence mixed up in her haste to reach the toilet.

Leave it to a Stark to gift them something that was more pain in the ass than helpful.

“Darce?” he calls, setting the bags down on the kitchen breakfast counter.

Silence.

Leaving the groceries for later, he walks through the living room, past the mountain of gifts that took up the majority of the cozy space, glancing over the back of the couch on his way to make sure she wasn’t passed out there. Nothing short of an alien invasion could wake her these days, and he wasn’t sure if that would even do it.

Growing a super bean, even with mutant insta-healing, still takes a lot out of a body.

When they’d first learned that they were pregnant (a long, drawn out campaign on Bucky’s part) His first move had been to start looking for a house. His kid was gonna have a yard, a little patch of grass to call their own. They’d both fallen in love with a dirty turn of the century brick row house on the rough side of town where high-end gentrification hadn’t sunk its soulless claws in yet. It wasn’t too far away from where their shops were located either, and, through the cracked and hazy back windows there was an empty plod of patchy dirt. They’d signed the papers on the spot, moved in their stuff, and Darcy had claimed the back sunny-side bedroom in the name of the seamonkey.

It’d taken them no time at all getting the house up to snuff with their pockets full of HYDRA cash but they’d both agreed to take their time with what was going to be the nursery. But with peanut’s due date fast approaching Bucky was getting worried they were taking a little too much time.

Up the stairs and down the hall in the last room on the left, he finds her. Laying prone on nest of drop cloths on the newly refinished wood floor, napping in the fat rectangle of sunlight beaming through the open window. He stands there for a moment, just soaking her up like she’s soaking up the warm rays. Paint is streaked and splotched in a rainbow of colors across the overall shorts she’s been favoring during these last few hot months of her pregnancy. He can see it dotting the flesh of her thighs and he knows if he were to look at the bottoms of her bare feet he’d find some there too. Shoes of any kind were the enemy unless she had to leave the house. Then they were a necessary Evil. All five fingertips were stained with color to the first knuckle as well. She’d been finger painting again.

Figuring he might as well join her, he kicks his shoes off (he doesn’t think he will ever be relaxed enough for sandals of any kind, no matter how fucking ball sweating hot the city got in the summer) and pads over on socked feet. Silently dropping down Bucky stretches out his long body next to her very short and very round one, instantly relaxed by the warm sunlight/cool breeze combo wafting through the window. Settling in, he rests his hands on his belly and takes a gander at what his girl had gotten up to while he was out.

The walls were blue, but not uniformly painted. When Darce had first described how she wanted blue ombre walls, he’d been pretty skeptical but he was just the chump in love with her so who was he to tell her no? He’s glad he kept his mouth shut because they’d turned out beautiful. But that was just the tip of the iceberg. Jane had come for a visit one day and the two had painted the ceiling a smoky, deep gray-blue and covered it in silver stars to mimic the Milky Way. That had apparently signaled to everyone else it was okay for them to leave their mark too. Steve had come over and the next thing he knew a massive tree was painted into one corner, its green foliage blotting out part of the night sky. Then a second one. Soon an entire woodland scene took up a wall. Bucky’s pretty sure Steve just comes over now to exclusively paint in the nursery. Thor had added gold Asgardian symbols to his queen’s starry sky. Wade had doodled some odd little birds. Flowering vines wrapped the corner of the window. Fire flies danced around the room. Someone (his money was on Natasha) had painted a dewy spider web between a couple tree branches. It wasn’t particularly well organized, but the walls were filled with a lot of love.

Glancing around he looks for whatever new addition Darce has added to the hodgepodge. Tilting his head back, Bucky’s eyes land on a brightly colored growth chart that was carefully brushed into the wall next to the open bedroom door. He can’t help the laugh that escapes him when he reads what she painted along with it. At the six foot mark, in painstaking detail, are the words ‘Daddy, extremely stubborn & suspicious’ and down by five foot two is ‘Mommy, practically perfect in every way’.

The sound of his laugh echoing in the still empty room sets the woman next to him stirring. Rolling to his side, Bucky props his head up on a hand so he can watch her wake up.

“Practically perfect in every way, huh?” he asks as soon as her open eyes settle on him.

Her lips split in a sleepy shit eaters grin as she stretches as much as her cumbersome body will allow her, “Bet your sweet ass,” she sasses, voice husky from sleep, then winces as her belly jumps, “Mini Barnes’ getting just as sick of this pregnancy as I am. Swear my kidneys are bruised from all the beatings they’re taking.”

Brow furrowing in worry, Bucky rests his large palm against her hard belly, “Don’t think you’ll be able to paint for much longer Darcy. You definitely shouldn’t be napping on the hard floor either.”

She blushes, “Didn’t mean to fall asleep. My back was fucking killing me so I laid down for a few minutes but couldn’t get back up. I was waiting for you to get home so you could help-“ she stops talking when a deep laugh bursts past his lips and he buries his face in her neck.

“Shut up,” she chuckles, swatting at his shaking shoulders, the hits ending with her fingers tunneling through his thick mane, “This is the last time you’ll have to rescue my giant ass from the floor again; room’s finished.”

“ _Finally,_ ” he says, popping his head back up, “Do you know how long that heap’uh baby gifts’ve been sitting in the living room? Pretty sure they’ve fused with the floor.”

She rolls her eyes at him, “Dramatic much? We’ve only lived here like, six months tops.”

“Yeah, and that mountain has blocked the bottom corner of the TV for just as long. It’s messing with my game watching, Sweetheart.”

She rolls her eyes even harder, “ _Why_ did I procreate with you again?”

“Uh, because you couldn’t resist my magical giant super dick?”

“Sounds about sixty-percent right.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wade and Vanessa bought the house next door  
> they made their backyards connecting  
> the security on that nursery is unreal  
> Tony tried to convince them to let him install an AI. Bucky was for it, Darcy was a firm no  
> I haven't decided if they're having a girl or boy. I have both, and they're each awesome, so its hard to choose for me. Picking feels like i'm declaring my favorite lol.


	7. Zap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Quinjet destroyed during a battle, the team's going to need a way home.

The battle had been a long, hard one. Yes, the enemy had been defeated (for now. Who could really know if they’d managed to rip all the roots out. Time would tell) but not without taking a serious ass kicking on their side.

Tony’s suit was operating at thirty-percent. Steve was missing an entire sleeve from his shirt. Sam, wing pack black from where it’d taken a direct hit (sending him plummeting to the ground) was somehow supporting both a mildly concussed young Peter _and_ Bucky, black kohl smudged across his face, ankle most likely broken. Though upon taking a closer look, it would appear that the press of those two is keeping Sam up just as much as he was they. Hulk had been so exhausted from the fight that as soon as it was clear they had won he’d simply let Banner take over, after a brief victory high-five with a battered Brunnhilde. He stood tensely next to a silent Natasha, who’s arms were wrapped tightly around cracked (if not broken) ribs. Wanda and Vision held each other silently.

Thor didn’t care to inspect the deep new scratches his armor had accrued. A battle won was a battle won. There were other problems to worry about. They were tired. They were bloody. They were dirty(A glorious feeling, really, having ones metal tested on the field of valor). And the quinjet had been destroyed in the melee leaving all but those with the ability to use the bifrost (him, basically, and Hilde who had tagged along on this outing) stranded. Which was a bad thing, considering they were all still operating in a not quite legal gray area of vigilante-dom after the dissolution of the Accords post Thanos (another thing Thor didn’t understand about these sometimes-backwards Midgardians. You were supposed to _thank_ heroes (preferably with and endless supply of booze and roasted meats, particularly hot wings) _not_ toss them in prison.).

“So what do we do now?”

Banner seemed to be the only one with the mental energy left to put forth the question.

“Underwater jail.” Tony quipped, though the fission of grim truth underneath didn’t quite cause the laughs he was hoping for.

Thor sighs, and swipes at the bead of cooled sweat running down his forehead. He cannot take them back to New Asgard. The settlement was basically in its infancy, and cloaked in so much magic by Loki and their remaining magic users that anything sent to pick them up wouldn’t be able to find it even if he wanted them to. Also, the currently empty Avengers facility was being watched for any type of activity. But he can’t just abandon his friends.

That leaves only one place.

* * *

 

The wounded warriors land in a tense huddle (except Thor and the Valkyrie) in a shower of rainbow light in a dimly lit concrete box of a room. Behind, a stretch of metal stairs leads up a dark corrugated pipe. Before them is a very large, very solid, very heavy looking square door, lacking handles of any kind.

“Where are we?” Steve asks.

Thor glances over his shoulder at him, “One of Jane’s labs. Temporary until she’s relocated to New Asgard.”

“Why’s an astrophysicist need a lab with a blast door?”

“Jane’s the leading mind in her field. She has many inventions Midgardian would like to get their hands on.”

“Surprise,” Natasha mutters.

Thor nods, “Follow me,” He takes a step towards the door and two giant laser cannons whirl out of the ceiling, sights set on the blond king and his company. The camera in the corner readjusts and a tinny, British voice crackles out of a speaker, “Please state your name,” then clicks off.

Thor smiles benignly up at the camera, “Hello, Ian. Thor Odinson, King of Asgard, God of Thunder, Earth’s mightiest hero.”

“In your dreams,” Banner mutters under his breath.

The speaker clicks back on, “Business or, uh, pleasure?” _*click*_

Thor just looks at the camera, “….both,” he takes an inpatient step, the lasers track him, “Would you unlock the door, please, Ian?”

_*click*_ “S-sorry your Majesty, but you’ll have to…have to do the dance.” _*click*_

That stops him dead in his tracks.

“Ian…”

_*click*_ “Darcy says no one in without the dance. Security measures are here for a reason.” _*click”_

_*click*_ “Your Royal Eminence.” _*click*_ he adds, hastily.

“Yes, I understand, but who are you more afraid of Ian, me or Darcy?”

*click* “Dar-“

“Alright,” Thor overrides him, eyes closed tight. This is the absolutely _last_ thing he needs after the day he’s just had, “Damn you, Darcy,” he says under his breath. Completely trying to ignore the group at his back he shakes his hands out and starts the steps his asshole of an honorary sister had shown him last week. He lifts his left foot, then puts it down.

*click* “youhavetosingit.” *click*

Brunnhilde coughs over a laugh. Thor shoots her a dirty look.

For the love of Odin’s _raven_ -

He lifts his left foot again, “You put your left foot in,” he sets it back down, “you put you left foot out,”

“FRIDAY,” Tony says in a strangled whisper.

_“Recoding, Boss.”_

“In 4K?”

_“Always, Boss.”_

Tony turns to Bruce, “I’m adopting whoever Darcy is. This is the best thing I’ve ever _seen.”_

“You put your left foot in and you shake it all about,” Thor unenthusiastically wobbles his massive, booted foot, “You do the Hokey-Pokey and you turn yourself about,” he points his index fingers to the sky, rocking his arms up and down as he does a slow, painful three-sixty spin,

“Are you fucking seeing this too,” Bucky murmurs to Sam, “Or am I just that fucked up?”

“Unless they released hallucinogenic gas when we weren’t looking, this is happening.”

Thor comes to a stop, “That’s what,” he pats the tops of his thighs twice, “it’s all,” he raises a knee and claps once under it, “a-,” he puts his leg down, claps once in front of his chest, “-bout.” He finishes with hands raised high in a ‘V’.

Behind him someone starts a slow clap that the others join in on.

He glares over his should to see Brunnhilde with a wide shit-eaters grin, “Bra-vo,” she drawls out. Oh very _ha_. He doesn’t see her having to do this every time they visit.

The lasers disappear and a loud buzzing sound crackles out of the speaker a second before the door lumbers open, revealing a short hall ending in another door, this one not as heavily fortified. The group of heroes limp down to it, the space seeming even more cramped with their armor clad, beefcake bodies jamming it up, and it’s a split second before the sound of locks being disengaged has the blond king twisting the handle open.

They’re let into what looks like a break room with a kitchen, and a second-hand dining table for four off to one side. A flat screen TV mounted on the wall is set on the cooking channel. On the other is a desk featuring multiple monitors behind which a lanky, brown haired man is trying to hide without much success.

Ian.

Noticing them noticing him (specifically Thor’s gimlet stare down) he gestures at the double hospital doors at the back of the room through which muffled music can be heard, “They’re- ah –in there.”

Narrowing his mismatched eyes at the man, Thor leads them across the room, pushing the double swing doors open and getting blasted by a wave of up-tempo synthesized music.

The large room is stuffed with a hodge-podge of high-end, alien, and obviously self-made equipment. One wall is covered in whiteboards crammed with a rainbow of half and whole baked equations, a bank of screens sits on a sagging plastic table along another, read outs ticking across the ones that are on. There are two dumpster-dived desked pushed against each other, and another TV rigged up on a wall, currently turned to a news station playing highlights of their battle, the sound of which cannot be heard over the music. In the center of the scuffed tile floor a large bullseye was painted.

 On top of which, are his lovely Jane and (currently shit-listed) Darcy, doing an obvious victory dance, oblivious to their entrance.

**_“I need a hero!”_** a raspy woman’s voice declares passionately, and the two petite women declare it loudly to the room along with her.

**_‘I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night_ **

**_He’s gotta be strong_ **

**_And he’s gotta be fast_ **

**_And he’s gotta be fresh from the fight!’_ **

The two are undulating wildly, (though inelegant, it is very passionate), Jane does some quick running in one place, followed by a shoulder shimmy and hip wiggle that does pleasant things to his loins. Darcy executes an energetic spin then tosses her thick mane provocatively, forcing her abundant chest out and bouncing in the bright electric light.

Behind him someone starts toe-tapping to the beat and another begins to hum along with the song.

‘ ** _Racing on the thunder, and rising with the heat_**

**_It’s gonna take a superman to sweep me off my feet!’_ **

Jane and Darcy serenade each other as they clasp hands, hips rocking enthusiastically.

Something causes Jane to look their way.

Thor smiles brightly, and gives a small wave.

The astrophysicist’s eyes widen and light up at the sight of them. Reaching out she slaps the stereo and the music abruptly cuts off.

“Oh, baby, are you all right?” she asks, rushing towards them.

Thor opens his arms to receive her…only to have the small woman breeze right passed him to fawn over the smug Brunnhilde, eyes full of concern as her small hands cup the Valkyrie’s (stupid) smirking face.

Someone coughs on a laugh.

Thor sighs gustily to himself. Is it too much to ask to be made much after a hard-won battle? Apparently.

“You look like shit,” Darcy announces, broad gap toothed smile stretching her cheeks.

The king rolls his eyes, “Yes, well, you should see the other guys.”

A soft little hand molds to his cheek, (a balm to his aching hurts really) and looks down to meet the large worried eyes of his Jane. Wrapping his arms about her waist he sags tiredly against her.

Nudging him over to one of the duct-taped office chairs he flops into it, “My friends,” he says to the weary heroes, “my lady Jane Foster. And Darcy.”

Darcy waves at everybody.

“Tony Stark,” Tony needlessly introduces himself, “ _Huge_ fan of watching Brad Pitt and Heath Ledger’s giant love child do the Hokey-pokey. How do you feel about adoption?”

Darcy is saved from answering by an excited yipping sound. A small, shaggy, green, dog-like thing came scuttling cross the tile floor and leaps at Brunnhilde, who crouches down to greet the little creature.

It has large black eyes.

_And_ antennae.

“Who’s a _good boy_ ,” the woman coos at him, “Phyto is, _yes he is_.”

Bruce shifts uncomfortable as Hulk grumbles jealously (internally) at the sight of his friend cuddling another green beast.

Natasha arches an eyebrow at him.

“We Grubhub’d all your favorites,” Jane says to him, “Though we’re _probably_ going to have to order more for your friends.”

“Actually,” Steve cuts in apologetically, “we really should be getting home.”

The others nod.

Thor strokes a hand down her back, “Their jet was destroyed in the battle.”

“Oh!” she says (his Jane’s beautiful brain was quick to catch on to even the most minute of hints), she looks at the dirty group huddled by the doors, “You need me to zap you guys there? No problem.” She hops off his lap scurrying over to a nondescript machine.

“Uh,” Sam leads.

“Did she say _‘zapped’_?” Peter asks hesitantly.

“Jane has invented a way to travel similar to the bifrost,” Thor informs them proudly.

“It’s painless,” Darcy says nonchalantly as she flops into another office chair and coasts it over to one of the desks.

“Mostly,” Hilde quips from her spot on the floor with Phyto, sharing a troublemaking smirk with Darcy.

Thor rolls his eyes. Really, he’s going to strain something if he keeps doing that.

“Where to?” the brunette assistant asks, tapping away at the computer keyboard.

“Are-“ Tony stops mid-sentence, glancing with mounting worry as the machine Jane is fiddling with emits a whining noise and the slight woman bangs on it, hard, “You know what? Maybe we’ll just wait for a ride. I could have another jet here in an hour. Maybe. Where’s here by the way?”

Jane blinks at him in confusion, “Why? This way’s _way_ quicker.”

“Like instantaneous, quicker,” Darcy chimes in.

“We use it all the time.”

“ _All_ the time.”

“And zapping to somewhere on Earth is way easier than going to, like, Dorthmal-17.”

“Way, _way_ easier.”

“And one-way is a snap compared to two-way travel.”

Darcy snaps her fingers.

“So really, it’s no trouble,” Jane finishes, smiling at them.

None of the Avengers look convinced.

Thor glares threateningly at them, and Brunnhilde’s face promises _pain_ if they turn this down.

Five minutes later finds all of them (minus the two Asgardians) standing tensely in the bullseye, odd shaped rods arranged in a triangle around them.

They’d had to sign waivers.

“Okay, first,” Jane says, clapping her hands, “Do you have your exit buddy?” she asks.

Everyone nods. For the sake of the trip they’d been paired up and made to hold hands, except for Sam, Bucky and Peter, they remained a threesome to stay stable.

“Does anyone suffer from heart issues, low blood sugar, shin splints or is currently pregnant?” Darcy chimes.

They hesitate, then all shake their heads in the negative.

“Do you all have your pieces of grapefruit?”

They all hold up the wedge of ruby red fruit they’d been handed.

“Alright, insert the grapefruit into your mouth,” Darcy holds a slice up silently next to the instructing Jane and inserts it juicy end first passed her lips, giving herself a citrus smiley.

The team once again hesitates.

“You’ve _got_ to be-“

“Do it,” Hilde orders.

They all do it.

“Alrighty then. Now you’re gonna wanna keep arms tucked,” again, Darcy demonstrates, “and keep your knees bent,” the younger woman crouches slightly, “And having a lingering banana flavor stuck in your mouth for a few days can happen. Also smelling burnt popcorn. Sometimes.” She lifts the corded button remote.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Bucky mutters.

Bruce takes Natasha’s hand.

“Pad clear! Three, two, one-“

Darcy waves goodbye cheerfully.

Peter squeezes his eyes shut. _Please_ God, don’t let him die a virgin.

She pushes the button, the rods vibrate, generating a rainbow-hued energy field around them, the sound of static crackling built and then with a _zzzap!_ they were gone.

For a minute the lab was quiet except for the slight panting of Phyto.

“Do you think we should have told them their clothes _probably_ wouldn’t survive the trip?”

After the first ten journeys or so, Jane and Darcy had found that Earth textiles just simply weren’t capable of surviving a zap through space and had to have special travel outfits made on Pluthar.

Thor blinks. He’d totally forgotten about that.

Darcy shrugs, “They’ll figure it out.”

* * *

 

Pepper screams as seven naked bodies appear in her living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonnie Tyler - Holding out for a hero (the music video is...awful. there's light up lassos) always thought of it as Thor's theme song.  
> Yes, this is Thor/Jane/Brunnhilde or any mix of that.  
> Phyto was found on a jungle-like planet. He doesn't have fur, more of a grass/leaf like foliage. He sleeps on a bed of soil under a grow light, and gets all his nutrients from water and an organic liquid fertilizer he gets once a month. Think a green Coton De Tulear.   
> Grapefruit works beter then oranges or tangerines, but aren't overpowering like lemons and limes. there was a lot of trial and error to figure this out. A. LOT.  
> I did the hokey-pokey like five times to describe it.


	8. Clothing Optional

Bucky feeds the last quarter into the washing machine, pressing the worn start button as soon as he hears the familiar ‘tink’ of coin landing on coin. Backing up, he flops down into one of the faded yellow plastic chairs lining the wall and sprawls. Slouching down as far as he can to allow optimal air flow between him and the warm seat, legs kicked out and spread wide, ignoring the book he’d brought to pass the time.

 _Fuck it’s hot_ , he thinks, running a hand over his sweat-damp hair, brushing back the thick waves that’d come loose from the stubby tail he’d sloppily put it in on his way out, staring blindly at the row of shiny metal machines. The place was empty, save for him. A record breaking heatwave had hit the city, and even at one-thirty in the morning the muggy air in the twenty-four hour laundromat was sweltering enough to have him covered in a fine layer of perspiration. The place’s ancient AC unit, rumbling and humming its little heart out, was no match for it. Nobody in their right mind would willingly suffer through this when there were newer, nicer, facilities down the block with ice cold air, basic cable, and all you had to do was drop in a few more coins.

Which is _why_ he was here. His name had been cleared, just like Stevie had promised it’d be after they’d all come together in the defeat of Thanos. He’d been able to walk down the street a free man again, head held high. A very _popular_ free man, once his past had hit mainstream media. He really had to hand it to that Ms. Potts; whoever she’d hired to spin his story had been worth every dirty penny. And all they’d done is tell the truth, with a favorable spin on it. By the time the eight piece, in-depth documentary had rolled its last credit he’d become America’s favorite son, dethroning Steve, which his pal laughingly thanked him for. It’d been nice, for a while.

Then it got old. All of it. Really, really, teeth grinding, irritatingly, _old_. The girls more than happy to give a soldier his long overdue welcome home. Strangers paying for his meals. The random people stopping him on the street to thank him for his service or take pictures. He just wanted to be able to shop for his groceries, browse the stacks at the bookstore, and fold his damn underwear in peace. Was it too much to ask for? Apparent-fucking- _ly_.

He just wanted to be left alone.

Of course, that’s not how the universe works, is it?

The slap slap of flip-flops is all the warning he has before a dame, dark hair piled high and sloppy on her head wearing a thin halter sundress, hustles in loaded down with a full laundry basket and an over large tote slung over a smooth bare shoulder.

Great. His quiet solitude just got invaded by a _probable_ “fan” who’ll want to ask invasive questions about his life while doing that poofy lip thing women these days all thought was provocative, and making innuendos about his arm.

Fucking _peachy._ Where was Wanda with a mind fuck to save the day when you needed her? Not here, that’s where.

With mild annoyance he watches her drop the basket in front of the empty machine next to his chugging ones, paying him zero mind. He cringes internally as she stuffs a jumbled pile of mixed-color clothing into the tub. Bucky’s eye twitches. Who the fuck doesn’t sort their colors? WHO? She slides the basket over to the next washer with a small foot, totally oblivious to his silent judgement and outrage. Jeans –some with legs turned inside out and cuffs rolled –get shoved into that one. Christ, he bets she doesn’t even check pockets. What kind of sick, backwards, bumfucked dimension did she _come from?_ Still oblivious to the scowling man behind her she moves over to a third and pulls out a silky, lacy wad of underthings. Bucky barely blinks at the jumble of neon colors, rhinestones and animal prints, having long gotten over his surprise (and delight) at the type of drawers twenty-first century girls hid under their clothes.

He does blink (and almost swallows his tongue) when she pinches at the hips of her dress then shimmies the panties she’s wearing down her smooth legs, letting them puddle at her ankles, and brings his inner beratement to a screeching halt. While he stares in disbelief she steps out of them and bends to pick the slinky material up, the hem of her dress flirting a few inches just shy of flashing him her business, then straightens to toss them in with the rest. While this is _not_ the first (or the fifth) time he’s seen someone come into the place at this hour, remove articles of clothing from their person and directly toss them into the wash, this _is_ the first time it’s been somebody decidedly not homeless, or spun out on whatever drugs they’d gotten their hands on.

Bucky’s irritation somewhat dissipated after the unintentional strip tease (sue him. He’s a man), he watches her fill each machine with detergent (mentally noting and judging that she uses way too much), eyes intent on her hem as she stands on raised heels to reach, swearing the room is steadily getting warmer as she goes. He darts his eyes away, down to the creased cover of his paperback, when she finally finishes and all three machines are running. Flicking his eyes up again once he’s sure she hadn’t caught him, he watches her gather her wash things together through his lashes.

 _Please, don’t sit by me_ , he thinks – _wills_ hard at the universe to keep the soft package of obvious trouble away from him.

Either the universe hates him or his luck just ran out because the oblivious woman plops down two seats away, dropping her bag in the chair between them. The heavy sounding clunk it makes against the worn plastic draws his eyes down from where he’s very surreptitiously _not_ studying her profile through a few loose hanks of hair and to the contents on display through the wide open gap of her tote.

Her purse was as jumbled’a mess as her laundry loads. A tangled rats nest of earbuds perches on top of a pair rolled, mismatched socks. There’s a hairbrush with (Bucky holds back a shudder of ‘ew’) a mat of dark hair frizzed to it nudged up against a crushed box of Thor Band-Aids and a half spilled bag of on-the-go flossers. Icy eyes skirt past the brightly wrapped tampons freely roaming about, canoodling with highlighters and at least a dozen pens that look mooched from various hotels and establishments.

Slim, fine fingers with peach nails obstruct his covert snooping, stirring up the contents as she digs for something, revealing a dog-eared memo pad littered with some sort of coded short hand, six individually packaged mints, a rainbow of flavored tootsie rolls, one crinkly pack of pop tarts with bold black letters written on them. Bucky manages ‘EMERGANCY POP TARTS!!! NOT FOR T-‘ before they too are carelessly nudged aside in her search for whatever th’hell it is she’s looking for.

A wadded pair of silk and lace panties tease their way into view, and he’s reminded of the fact the she’s very much not wearing a pair right now. He subtly adjusts his seating, hoping to get his half hard cock into a more comfortable position. Stupid bastard, he thinks in irritated disgust at the hardware dangling between his legs, the corners of his lips twitching down for a micro-second into a frown. Dumb fucker was more trouble than it’s worth, some times. His playboy rep pre-Winter Soldier had made him the number one female fantasy in the twenty-first century, and while his dick was more than willing to let women hop on to see if the legend lived up to the hype (it did), Bucky’d woken to enough crazies watching him sleep with unblinking eyes, or catching them poking holes in condoms (hey, champion assassin/spy over here), and trying to cut off hanks of his hair to last him another seventy years. No thanks. His penis was officially retired and after they were done with the wash, they were going back to the apartment where his blissfully empty bed and a stack of science fiction paperbacks were waiting for him.

Unaware of his inner locker room pep-talk, the brunette makes a triumphant noise, her hand emerges clutching a dog eared book with various colored sticky notes hanging out here and there. Bucky reads the cover; _The Universe in a Nutshell,_ by Stephen Hawking. Something inside him perks up at that. She liked science? _Space_ science? The tiny optimistic part of him that still survived was ready to throw caution to the wind. The infinitely larger jaded part was more than a little skeptical, and whispered that she could be a plant sent by whatever shit organization was out for his skin this month.

“Is it good?” he rumbles, his mouth working faster than his brain.

Nearly Naked pauses in the middle of flipping to her current page, turns and blinks large sea-glass color eyes at him in mild surprise, as though she’d forgotten he was there.

Yeah, pull the other one, doll face, his jaded side snarks.

He holds up his own book, flashing her the battered cover of _Hyperion,_ “Science fiction geek,” he says, apologetically.

He sees the momentary hesitation flicker across her face before a friendly smile quirks her lips, “It’s pretty good, so far,” she shrugs, “I mean, it’s not part of my required reading, and really with all the new science coming from the Asgardians, the space refugees and the Xandarians, he’s no longer considered completely right, but it’s interesting anyways.”

“You’re going to school for this?” He’s impressed, and he lets the emotion fill his voice. The asshole part of him is grumbling less. Okay, so she might not be an enemy operative, but let’s not rule out crazy yet. Pretty girls who didn’t sort her colors or check pockets were probably short a nickel or two.

She smiles wistfully at the fanciful cover, “Yeah. I’m in my second year, as a part-time student. I went to school for a degree in political science. Wanted to change the world, you know?” here she shoots a teasing, self-deprecating smirk at him that seems to say ‘what a dumb kid I was, huh?’.

He sends a commiserating smirk back. Yeah, he knows a few’uh those.

“But I got this really awesome chance to intern with this scary-amazing astrophysicist in my last year, and met a few other deep space lovers, and fell in love with space too. So I’m going back to school for degree in astrophysics. Never too late for a fresh start, you know?”

That statement struck a chord somewhere deep in him, and he decides to throw caution to the wind, “I’m Bucky. Barnes,” he rolls his eyes at himself. Way outta practice here, pal, “Part-time Avenger, part-time shut-in.”

She smirks at him, “I figured. I mean, it was a fifty-fifty toss-up between that and homeless guy,” She shrugs at his cocked eyebrow, “Your face is pretty famous, and I totally watched the documentary like the rest of the entire U.S. population, dude,” she points at herself, “Darcy Lewis: kick ass lab assistant and eternal student.”

They sit there in a mildly awkward silence, the air around them static with potential.

“Um,” she says, hesitantly, “I have the audio book for this on my phone,” she holds up _The Universe in a Nutshell._ It’s not narrated by Hawking, thank Odin’s raven for small mercies, if you, you know, want to listen along with me?” She shrugs nonchalantly, “It helps me understand it better if I listen as I read.”

Bucky stares at her a moment, thinking. He really should say no. He should end this conversation, and go back to minding his own damn business. Finish his laundry and head the fuck home.

That’s what he should do.

“Sure,” he says, setting his own book aside.

She smiles happily, “Cool. I think you’re really going to like it,” she digs out her phone and the rat-nest head phones. How she untangles them so fast, he doesn’t know. She lifts up her bag, hops over to sit directly next to him, and plops the tote in her old seat, “The narrator has a really good voice, not drone-y at all.”

She smells like warm skin and whatever haircare product she used. Something rich and earthy that made him want to tug the tie from her barely contained bun and let all that soft looking hair down so he could bury his nose in it.

He takes the earbud she offers instead and tucks it in, studying her as she flips her book to her last spot then hits play. He closes his eyes as the smooth words float through his ears.

* * *

 

They pause to switch loads and sort out hang-dry garments, which all her unmentionables seem to be. He tries valiantly to not stare at her hemline every time she bends to pull the wet clothes out. He fails. They discuss the chapter as they go, “Like I said, his theories are kind of outdated since the first battle of New York, and the huge leap in space travel technology,” His temple throbs (he’s pretty sure she’s going to be the cause of an aneurism) as she unceremoniously shoves her mixed laundry into the wall dryers next to his meticulously sorted ones.

As the loads tumble they go back to listening.

* * *

 

They segue into their friends as they fold. Bucky is surprised and pleased (and simultaneously irritated with himself for it) that she knows Thor, that they have a common connection, no matter how slight. That she’s probably had multiple background checks and evals because of it, so the probability of her mailing him her dirty panties and a photoshopped image of what their imaginary offspring will look like is low. And not a little jealous that her job as the assistant to the other part-time Avenger’s main squeeze has taken her to _actual_ other planets and realms in the pursuit of scientific knowledge.

“I’ve seen some things dude,” she imparts with a grave voice, the hulk panties held before her not detracting from that, “But I wouldn’t change any of it. You’d be surprised at how handy a degree in political science is when dealing with disgruntled aliens.”

 Darcy’s smart, and interesting, and funny and could care less that he’s James fucking Barnes. He’s just a guy, doing his laundry in a muggy laundry mat in the pre-dawn hours.

He likes her.

“Wow,” Darcy says in admiration, a hoodie half wadded, half folded in her hands as she watches him shake crisp creases into his jeans before precisely folding and staking them in his meticulous pile of pants next to her half-hazard one, “You’re like an expert folder.”

He stares pointedly at her sloppy one, “I could teach you,” he offers.

She has the grace to blush, “Ha. I’ve spent so long living out of suit cases, and rushing to get it all clean before we’re on the run again, that I’m kind of used to just getting it small enough to fit, you know?” she shrugs bashfully, and refolds the sweater, taking the time to line it all up.

It’s still lumpy and misshapen. His fingers itch to correct it, but he knows he needs to start with baby steps.

He slides the pile of mismatched socks in front of her.

“We’ll start with these.”

“You _fold_ socks?”

Bucky holds back the sigh fighting its way to escape.

Very _small_ baby steps.

It doesn’t hurt that it keeps her around longer either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they make a not-date to meet up the next time they do laundry  
> after the third one, bucky asks her if she wants to get some pie from the all night dinner down the street from his place  
> Darcy never quite achieves a Bucky level of folding perfection, but she does alright  
> by the time they move in together it doesnt matter, he does all their laundry, and quite enjoys keeping darcy naked around the house on laundry day.  
> when Darcy and Jane have to return to space, he goes with them


End file.
